


Jazz Club Bathroom

by aykroyd



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykroyd/pseuds/aykroyd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so this also happened and im not apologizing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz Club Bathroom

“I didn’t expect to see you again.” Fletcher finally spoke, breaking the silence between himself and his former student. “How’d you find me?” He drained his scotch and flicked a wrist to the waiter as they passed by. “I wasn’t really looking,” Andrew ventured, wringing his hands under the table, “I just saw your name on the chalkboard outside and I was curious.” Fletcher thanked the waiter lowly as they placed a second scotch on the table. “Well, what did you think?” Andrew looked up and saw Fletcher’s expectant eyes and they threw him for a loop. He craved Fletcher’s attention for months when he was at Shaffer and now that it had it, he felt ecstatic. “You were great,” He muttered, unable to speak clearly. Fletcher chuckled and took a long sip of his drink. They again settled in silence. Andrew was terrified to speak, because despite being years removed from Shaffer and the ensemble, he still feared Fletcher and yearned for his approval. Sitting opposite him in a dimly lit jazz bar opened doors in Andrew he’d long since forgotten. 

“I— I have to go to the bathroom,” He sputtered, standing up quickly from the booth. Fletcher raised his eyebrows and said nothing, but Neiman felt his eyes on his back as he retreated to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face gave no relief to the burning blush filling Andrew’s face. How stupid was he to come here tonight? To think he was in control of the fear and anxiety Fletcher filled him with. He was wiping his face with a paper towel when he heard the bathroom door open. Before he could look up, he was pushed forcefully against the wall, a stiff leg between his pinning him there. A coarse hand grabbed his face and Neiman was finally aware of Fletcher’s dark eyes drilling into his own. “I know it was you, you fucking twerp.” Andrew’s eyes widened and he writhed in Fletcher’s grip. He pushed Andrew harder into the wall, his kneecap dragging on Neiman’s crotch. “I’ll repeat myself, since apparently you’ve forgotten to speak, I know it was you who got me fired. You think I just forgot being tackled? You’re the only one who ever had the fucking balls to stand up to me.” As he said it, his leg dug deeper into Neiman’s crotch, forcing a light moan out of him. Neiman gasped as Fletcher grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him into one of the stalls. He pushed Andrew to the floor and haphazardly unbuttoned his pants. Neiman, kneeling on the dirty floor of a jazz club, looked up at Fletcher expectantly. Fletcher looked down and grimaced. “What is this? With the fucking puppy dog eyes? Stop that shit, this isn’t fucking Lolita and I’m not your fucking sugar daddy.” Andrew wiped his face and tried not to look up at Fletcher as he pulled out his dick. “Now, listen Neiman, you’re gonna suck me off in a public restroom just like a wet dream you had over all the dirty mags you read in high school, but I swear to god if you come in your pants, I’ll fucking kill you.” Neiman nodded, his cock pushing excitedly against the zipper of his jeans. He finally looked up and tried to put a hand around Fletcher’s cock. His hand was slapped away. Fletcher, again, picked Neiman up by his shirt front until they were facing each other, his exposed dick rubbing the front of Andrew’s jeans. “You think it’s that easy,” Fletcher whispered menacingly into Andrew’s ear. “After all those years you’ve been waiting for this moment?” “Wait—waiting?” Andrew mustered, but was cut off by a low chuckle. “Don’t fucking pretend you haven’t wanted this from the moment you saw me, Neiman, you’re as easy to peg as a fucking fat chick on prom night.” They looked at each other for a beat, Neiman’s face almost purple with flushed embarrassment. “Now, turn around, you’re gonna regret getting me fired, Neiman.” Andrew pulled his jeans to his ankles with almost embarrassing speed, and turned to face the wall, He braced his hands on the wall above the toilet and smiled to himself. Fletcher was right, he’d been waiting to be fucked by him since he walked in on him playing freshman year. His dick pulsed in his pants and he knew he’d come in anticipation if Fletcher touched it or even grazed it. He breathed in a few short breaths and braced himself. The stall fell quiet save for Andrew’s haggard, eager breathing. 

The door of the bathroom opened, then closed. Neiman jumped and turned, suddenly feeling exposed. Fletcher was gone, leaving only a cocktail napkin on the floor. Neiman picked it up and turned it over, but it was blank, probably not even left by his former teacher. “Fuck,” Neiman whispered. He should have known that punishment would not have been getting fucked, because he wanted it too bad. Fletcher knew what he was doing as always; leaving Andrew petrified and alone with the prospect of getting fucked was sadistic and almost classically Fletcher. 

Neiman never tells anyone about how he masturbated in a jazz club bathroom.


End file.
